Baseball
by Blue Flaming Wings
Summary: Friendships can be born from the most simpliest of things. Bonds, one day thicker than blood, can spring froth from a happy hello, a friendly smile, a handshake, a pat on the back, or even, or even a baseball game.


I'm writing this on my laptop at 11:07 pm, and after a rather exhausting work out, so please pardon me if my writing isn't very clear. I will probably go over it a couple of times, and revise it a bit, but for those who read it in its rough draft, might find it a bit shaky at best.

I'm a huge fan of Fallout. I've been playing it constantly for several months, and, for just as long, this little oneshot has been lingering around in my head. I could take push it so many ways. Make it a series of oneshots, all from Amata's view, or I could actual do that novelization I was tempted to do. But, for the moment, I'll leave it as it is: a oneshot. Here's some stuff you all should know.

This story was originally inspired by a character study. I wanted to get into the Lone wanderer's head. Because of that, I scanned through the introduction several times, and managed to find a couple of key clues. A) His Grognak comic book that Amata gave him as a birthday present. (Being his best friend, I figured it wasn't something random and had some value to him.) B) Baseball. He was given a baseball cap from Stanely, and, nine years later, when he's nineteen, there's still that baseball bat and a glove and baseball lying on his desk, so he's still a fan.

Yes, this story evolved from those two minor observations...yes, I scare myself sometimes.

Now, without any further ado!

Baseball

Their first meeting was seared into her being, fresh and vivid, powerful and captivating in its potency.

But do not mistake that as being the first time she saw him. No, Amata Almodova had seen the the surgeon's son quite a few times, always so quiet, always so shy, shuffling his feet, pulling at his vault suit's sleeve, staring morosely at the ground and flinching whenever a word was thrown his way. Not that the little girl blamed him, not with the way Butch and his groupies always talked to him. She could not imagine what it was like for him, in their daycare center, having to sit all alone, due to that jerk De Loria's open dislike for the boy, a dislike that no one really understood but no one dared to question. Not that any of the kids bothered, they joined in with the sneering, and Amata couldn't help but think they would have done so even without Butch De Loria's helpful prodding.

The fact of the matter is that there was something...different, about the doctor's kid, as most the kids in the Vault called him. There was a look in his eyes, those pools of swirling gray, like when those fluffy things in the sky got upset before a storm...those, uh, whatamacallits...uh, clouds! Yes, his eyes were like storm clouds. Deep, so very deep and chilling, so, so...sad.

It took her a while, a long while, for her to finally name it. The realization finally hit her one day when Miss Elnidar told them put down the packets, multiplication tablets, and pencils, and head outside for recess. It was a special recess that day, the big kids were coming from Mr. Rodney's classroom, children that Amata had never seen before, children that had never seen her, or, for that matter, the doctor's kid. But still, still -

The boys all gathered around to play a game of softball. One of the older kids was setting up up tee, and another was gently placing down the bases, and the younger kids were pretending to not be staring at all the big kid's Pipboys, and the big kids were also pretending to not notice the stares.

All the boys were squabbling, trying to shout and call out and drown out each other, demanding such and such be on their team. Asking for the _good _bats and the _good_ gloves, as if the one they pointed to didn't have the smiling face of the Vault Boy like all the other gloves and bats that the school gave out. In the end, two of the big kids were picked as team captains, despite Butch's open scowling in disapproval.

On the opposite side of the blacktop, behind the fenced off area that was designated for Vault little league sports, Amata sat with Susie and the other girls. Her fingers slipped effortlessly into her friend's bright locks, combing through and braiding them without any conscious thought, as she hummed softly to herself, a tune she heard on the Radiation Radio. But, just like that, her hands paused, her body ceased, and her eyes honed down onto the field, where a fight had broken out.

There were three times the amount of boys on the field, just enough for there to be two full teams, there was their class, then there was Mr. Rodney's class, so that meant half the boys there were strangers. Yet still, somehow _he _had ended up as the last pick – like always. There he stood, in the middle of the two thoroughly mixed, even teams. His face so red that Amata actually let go of Susie's hair entirely and bolted up, thinking the boy was suddenly struck with a fever. But then the words reached her ears, and she wondered how she had been so deaf.

"NO!" One of the boys basically screamed, with his fists on his hips, "You take him! I lost to you yesterday, Ben! I want my team to win this time!" Annoyance and a hint of exasperation was flushed on the boy's face, making his pudgy face scrunch up and his freckles flair to life.

But Ben only scowled at his twin, (Amata was startled by the sudden realization), and snapped, "You're always a sore loser, Chris. Besides, he's just one kid. Throw him out in right field if ya have to."

Susie stirred, and gave Amata a questioning glance, "Hey," She began, looking a bit cross, "Why did you-" But then her question died off, as she caught a glance at where Amata was staring, and she promptly drew the wrong conclusion. "The Philmore twins, huh?" Susie turned her gaze back to her friend, a Cheshire grin plastered on her cheeks. "They're kinda cute, don't you think?"

"Susie!" Amata exclaimed, crossing her arms and looking the other way...to better hide her red face.

Her best friend had been like this for a while now, having found a sudden interest in boys. All of Susie's other friends, (because Amata couldn't consider them _her_ friends, not with all the comments they make about her father) had also begun to look at the boys in their class askance, but, personally, Amata didn't understand. They were just _boys_. She saw them everyday, what was the big deal?

Amata was broken out of her thoughts when a sudden scream broke through the Phlimore twins fight. The doctor's kid had let out a harsh yell and had turned around and ran, away from the group of boys that were now catcalling back calls of "scaredycat!" and "crybaby!". For, Amata noted, her insides all a squirm, and with a heavy weight sinking through her bowels, the boy was indeed crying, sobbing even, teardrops splashing on the tiled floor, as he literally leaped over the home run fence and darted by the gaggle of giggling girls, eyes, as always, trailed on the floor.

Besides her Susie scoffed, "Serves him right."

And suddenly, just like that, Amata had to leave too. _Now_.

Dimly, faintly, she heard the uproar that occur the moment she too got her feet under her and began to run. All of her friends were spurting out one question after another, forming a buzz that flickered at the edge of her hearing. But it was Susie's voice alone that broke away from that haze and slammed into her consciousness, making her slam into her brakes with just a single question, "Where are you going?"

And, for the first time ever, Amata found herself in a difficult position, stuck between two choices.

She _couldn't_ just tell them that she was running after the doctor's kid, because, well, to be honest, she didn't know why. She just had to. Her body wouldn't let her go anywhere else but after his fleeing back. But she couldn't tell them that. She just couldn't. They'll make fun of her! Laugh at her! Maybe even...even...no. She didn't even want to think about that. So, so-

So she had to lie.

"Bathroom!" Was what she called out over her shoulder, the single word burned her lips.

From behind her, she heard Betty calling out, asking Amata to pick up her little toy she had found in a storage closet earlier in the day, but had left on her desk. It was this small bobble-head of the Vault Boy, and the girl was amusing herself by flicking it in the head and watching as it went up and down, up and down. Amata must have said yes, for the voices died down, but, by that point, she wasn't paying any of them even the slightest attention. It was almost as if her entire mind had been torn away and instead been forced onto the thought of that boy. And, again, she had no idea why.

Yet, still, the little girl couldn't shake away this single resounding thought. Right now, as she had saw him running, tears streaking down his face, heard the laughter, from those who knew him and those who didn't. As she heard her own best friend jeer at him, the startling, terrible revelation was flung at her, and it shook her, shook her greatly, and she didn't know why.

All she knew, was that this boy was destined to be alone. And that she didn't like it. Not one bit.

But whatever force it was, whatever fate that the star-crossed heavens had bestowed on him that had pushed all others away, that very same force, or perhaps one like it, was constantly, continually, drawing her to him. She was lost in her frantic thoughts, that queasy, unnerving feeling that always seemed to imbue her whenever she thought of him, that feeling that made her want to strangle all the other kids, so thick headed as they were, but, more strongly, made her loathe herself. A feeling so strong that it scared her. A feeling she could not possible begin to understand.

She was lost in the feeling, lost in her thoughts, lost in her panic. Only faintly did she remember going from room to room, searching the classrooms, hallways and locker rooms. Peering around behind the buildings, going towards the drinking fountain, and, at one mad moment, even darting towards the boy's bathroom, that was, until, she stopped herself, shook her head, and began to wonder if there was something wrong with her.

She only wished she could ask her father that.

The bell rung, sounding loudly in her ears, and Amata nearly had to drag herself away. Never before had she felt so torn. Her common sense, the part of her that was normally so dominant, the part of her that her father always liked and everyone always praised, was telling her that her time was up and it was time to go to class. But ever other part of her, it seemed, was screaming at her to turn around and keep looking, and looking and looking until she found the boy and, and, uh -

She hadn't worked it out that far yet...

What would she do, when she found him? Would she say hi? Ask if he was feeling alright? Ask if she could help? Sneer at him like the others? Or even just ask him for his name? (Because she so desperately wanted to know it, but had no other way of getting it. After all, Miss Elnidar never bothered with role call, and none of the other students ever talked about him.) It was only then, when it became clear to her that she had not the faintest idea of why she was looking for him but no idea what she was planning to doing, that Amata decided that it was time to just put it all behind her. Besides, he had to go back to class too, she'd see him then.

He wasn't in the classroom.

In fact, for the next two days, she didn't seem him at all. His father came in personally, the day after and brought Miss Elnidar a note, saying that "his boy" wasn't feeling all too well, and requesting that she hand him any assignments his son might have missed. She gave him the paperwork and he left and class went on.

Amata soon found herself spending her free time looking for him, searching for him. She didn't offer her friends a excuse, but she knew they shot quizzical looks her way. But, for some reason, that didn't bother her, didn't phase her in the slightest. She knew that her father had asked her, in these beginning years, to make a network, to be as friendly and gregarious as possible, and form good relationships with her peers, ones that she could work off of later as a platform...whatever that meant. But then, she had a thought of the doctor's kid, or thought she had a glimpse of him, and her feet would begin to move.

Because, during those days, Amata was beginning to think he was everywhere. Just wandering around, from place to place, room to room, chamber to chamber, as if his feet could not stay still. And, because of that, hers could not either, and it was beginning to thoroughly annoy her. But whether she would tell the boy this, she had no idea, as always, she only knew she had to find him and talk.

She finally had her chance.

Their first true encounter would not have happened at all had she not heard the cranking of gears and the sound of a speeding object, right there on the edge of her hearing. In fact, at that time, she had not been looking for him at all. The class had just recently been let out for snack time and Amata had been on her way to the cafeteria when she heard the sound.

Curious, she had slunk by, pass her friends and the growing crowd of students, only to find herself standing before a metal door that slid smoothly upwards when she pushed the electrical switch on the side wall. Before she knew it, the door had closed firmly behind her and darkness had descended. If it had not been for the small lights that were embedded on each of the stairs that led down to the unknown depths and the trickle of light at the bottom, Amata was certain she wouldn't have even been able to see the hands in front of her face.

The odd sound kept coming with a methodical, mechanical rhythm to it. A sss, sss, sss, as it wound up, and then a thuuungk!, as the machine, for it had to be a machine, let loose the whateveritwas. Though she had not slowed down her pacing, for some reason it felt to Amata as if reality itself was moving at a slower tempo, or, perhaps, as cliché as it is, perhaps as if time itself was slowing down. She felt the cold metal beneath her fingertips as her hand traced its way along the wall of the closed staircase, she could hear the hum in the vent above her head, and feel the cool air that whooshed down and toyed with her pigtails. A weight, tense and heavy, settled around her shoulders, and a impeccable feeling, one with equal parts excitement and anxiousness began to fill through her, catching her breath away.

Later, Amata would claim the sensation was what one felt when they brushed against destiny.

The staircase ended before another door, and this was closed but a crack remained, a dim sliver that sent the ray of light that had pierced into the consuming blackness of the stairway. As she neared the door, Amata could hear the ssses and thuungks of the machine louder now, along with the murmured words of a boy, strong and confident words at that. Eager, and with shaking hands, the young girl crouched near the door, and, leaning forward ever so slightly, peered into the -

Empty room.

Frowning now, Amata stood fully up and opened the door without hesitation. Immediately, light flooded into her face, and instinctively the girl's hands bolted up to shield her eyes. It took only a few seconds for the dots to clear and her vision return, but once it did. Everything made sense.

She was standing before a circular room. On the back wall, where the door was, were beeping monitors, black screens, long keyboards, and swivel chairs, all of which were unoccupied. Before her, was a single, leather bound, chair, raised up on a small platform, with a good amount of space between the computer terminals and it. But what _really_ caught her attention, was the long glass panel, essentially a window, that spanned across the far wall.

This window overlooked a room filled with large, metal crates, a pitching machine, and a lone boy.

He was standing a safe distance away from the red monstrosity of rusted metal and creaking gearshifts. Yet, nevertheless, on top of his head was a plastic helmet, with the grinning, thumbs-up, visage of the Vault Boy. In his gloved hands was a wooden bat, which he was swinging experimentally back and forth, back and forth, at the moment, not even attempting to try to hit the ball, in fact, Amata noticed, he wasn't even in the right position yet, if that moldy looking cloth on the ground was meant to be the home plate. That meant she must have caught him right at the beginning of his practice, for some reason, that made a ear splinting grin flash on her face.

She step fully towards the window and sat on the ground (ignoring the chair) and watched.

The doctor's kid made his move and stepped up to the "mat".

And suddenly, Amata recognized the third sound she heard from before.

The boy was _talking_ to himself.

"Here comes Number 101, to the plate." _Clever,_ Amata dimly thought, as she glanced at the number imprinted on the back of his jumpsuit, "The bases are loaded and there's two outs. This is the last game of the season, and the Vault Boys are going to need a win to make it to the playoffs. But lucky for them, their best batter is up. The crowd is going wild, they're all chanting his name! The stadium is buzzing! And the pandemonium only grows as the pitcher winds up," _The what? _Amata asked, but the question dies off as she sees, indeed, the pitching machine was setting up with those ssses. From where she sat, her attention was focused on the boy's face, at the way it hardened, the way his eyes glinted from beneath his blond bangs and his brows furrowed, as if all his being was grounded at that time, in that moment.

_Thuungk!_

She saw his eyes alit, like there was a fire burning beneath them, she saw his foot move, his torso twist, his shoulders tense, his elbow raise, his bat stir and-

Nothing. He doesn't swing.

The ball crashes into the ground far before it reaches the plate.

"Ball one," The boy exclaims, but then, abruptly, his voice shifts, becoming tinged with melancholy, softer, yet more potent, "I really need to get Stanley to look at this thing." It was then that Amata realized that this voice, this one right here, was his real voice, his real attitude. All the rest of it was make belief, a front.

The pitching machine was cranking up again.

And, just like that, the boy readied himself, bending his knees, raising his bat, eyes focused solely on the dark mouth where the ball would be flying out of. A second later, the thuungk sounded and the baseball came soaring out, _fast_. Amata noted. Far faster than anything the other boys could...wait! The boys didn't pitch! They used tees-

But that thought was cut off.

The doctor's kid twisted his body around and the bat became a blur, the sound of wood smashing against the small ball with a loud smack was enough to make Amata's hands fly to her ears. A second later, she watched, wide eyed, as the ball shot out, at a sharp angle, only to collide into one of the crates and bounce off.

"Foul!" He said in his announcer voice, "Some lucky fan will go home with a ball tonight!"

Amata's mind was spinning, _he was the last pick, all the other boys hit off a tee, he was the last pick, all the other boys hit off a tee, he was the last pick, he's disappointed that he fouled, but none of the other boys – why do they? Do they know? Why hasn't he-_

But then, once again, things changed.

Until now, the boy had been set in a batting stance. She knew it, though she had never played the game, she had seen other boys stand just like he did right then before the home plate. But, right then, his form shifted, his knees became more bent, his body became lower to the ground, his shoulders became more hunched over, making him jut his chest towards the pitching machine, and his bat, once held so firmly was now raised over his head like a club. Amata suddenly noticed that his eyes were glinting. Where before he had been focused, honed and steely, now he seemed light, mischievous and carefree. A simple joy had infused within him, a joy, Amata knew, somehow, that came from his single victory: the foul hit.

"The princess has been captured!" And now Amata was simply confused, but the boy continued on, "The evil dragon Shula from the north has come down, burned down her castle, took its riches" _Thuunk!_ The ball just went by! What was he doing? "and captured the fair maiden! But, what is this? Who is that! Who dares enter Shula's lair? With nothing but a simple ax? Could it be? It is! It is! It is Grognak! Grognak the Barbarian!"

_Grognak!_ Amata was almost besides herself. _He likes Grognak too!_ She could have almost shouted it.

Thuuunk! She saw his eyes harden on that one. Yes, now he was ready.

"The Virgin Eater readys a ball of flame!" Oh! Now she understood. "But Grognak's magical blade Thorston glimmers!" Thuunk! "He swings!" The bat once again blurred, but far more wildly then before. The ball hit him in the shoulder, and he lets out a exaggerated cry of pain. "Grognak has been hit!"

_Oh no!_ Amata thinks, as she presses her hands against the windowpane and peers eagerly closer.

The boy steadies himself and then raises the bat in one hand over his head. It was then that she knew that he has forgotten all about the baseball practice. This was playtime for him now. And, despite herself, she wanted to jump down and join it. She really, really wanted to! Where was the door?

He continued on, "But Grognak gets up once again! The Barbarian will win! Magic buzz in his veins! He waits," Now the boy grabbed the bat with both hands, the machine was just then cranking up once more, longer this time. So the boy continues on with his monologue, "but the Virgin Eater just glares, and glares, stupid thing is on the fritz," He murmured the last part, but then his eyes lighten, "but then it darts, screaming, and here come the flames!" Thuunk!

The ball was slammed back, shooting up towards the ceiling, where a invisible dragon hovered.

"He is victorious!" The boy hollered, a giddy grin on his face.

Amata couldn't help it. She really couldn't! "Go Grognak!" She cheered, thrusting up a fist.

And the boy went berserk.

His head spun around, and, for the first time, stared up at the window where his audience sat. His eyes widened to saucer plates and his mouth fell down to the floor. A second later his face flooded full of red once again, just like two days ago at the baseball diamond, and the doctor's kid stepped back. A second later he let out a gasp as he stumbled over his own feet, falling roughly to the ground on his butt. His helmet slid off.

Thuunk!

The ball hit him in the head.

"Ow!"

It took every once of her being not to giggle.

The boy quickly scooted away from the pitching machine after that, though tried to do so somewhat gracefully, now that he was well aware that a set of eyes were on him. A second later, there they sat, him on the floor with the pitching machine shooting out the last of its balls, and she up above, before the window. There was silence, for a moment. The boy's face was unhealthy shade of crimson, and his eyes seemed cemented to the floor, and he was tugging at his sleeves again.

Amata knew the signs, and she didn't like it, not one bit. Where did the other boy go? He was funny!

Deciding to break the ice, and, because honestly she was a bit concerned, she asked, "Hey, uh, are you alright?" That did the trick. The boy's head snapped up, and his eyes were impossibly wide. It was almost as if the very last thing he had been expecting was for her to ask how he was feeling. But then, memories of how the other kids treated him floated up, and Amata felt that stomach churning sensation again. _Maybe I shouldn't be so surprised after all_...came the terrible thought, but she pushed it away. She didn't want to think about messy things.

The boy was openly staring at her now, and she was looking into his eyes also. Those gray eyes, the ones that looked like storm clouds, but today, now, at this moment, they were light, and she could see through them, and she liked it. She smiled, and then he smiled, and said, "I'm fine." But he kept looking at her, and then, slowly, recognition dawned, and then, just like that, he moved. Again. Could he not stay still?

The boy jumped to his feet and then bolted to the wall where the window was at, and promptly began to scurry up the crates as if he was a monkey. Amata watched, impressed, as he hopped from box to box. No, she was more then just impressed, she was surprised too. The boy was so lithe, so quick on his feet. Why didn't the other boys want him on their team? It didn't make any sense.

But then again boys _never_ made sense.

Especially this one, because a second later he sat crouched before her, balancing precociously on a metal crate, and looked at her, face to face, closer to each other then they ever been before. Yet, even though she could see clearly in his eyes that he recognized her, remembered her, he was still staring with a look in his eyes as if he had never seen her before, as if he had never seen a girl before. It was making her self conscious, she turned her gaze away and tugged at one of her pigtails.

This time he was the one to speak up.

"I know you, don't I?" He asked, though it sounded like a statement. "You're in my class. You're the girl that sits near the wall. What's your name?" At that moment, she was glad that her face was pointed in the other way, because, for some reason, her face began to burn at his questions. That light, innocent and eager tone. That soft voice. What was going on?

She shook her head, as if to get rid of the pesty feelings, and looked at him. See? Just a boy.

"I'm Amata."

She wasn't sure what she was expecting. She had deliberately left out her first name, hoping that by doing so he wouldn't realize, quite yet, who her father was. But she feared, slightly, that it wouldn't matter and he'll realize it anyway. And, for a moment, she felt certain that was the case, when she saw his eyes widen and his mouth fall open a bit and his face pale. The name Amata meant something to him, something important, and the girl felt her stomach fall out from under her. Great. Just great. Another -

"The Almost Friend!" He exclaimed. Before gasping, blushing, and clasping his hands over his mouth.

"The what?" She asked incredulously.

At that, his face became even more flushed and his eyes held pure mortification. So intensely did he seem embarrassed that she wished to drag the words back into her mouth, even though it was a legitimate question. But eventually, her curiosity overcame her other mixed up emotions, and she asked, leaning forward towards the windowpane, "What do you mean? Come on, you can tell me."

The boy shot her a look, before glancing down at his hands, pressed against the glass as they were. Finally, he looked back at her, hesitant, but daring enough. He was giving her a chance. A chance not to hurt him like the others did. "Prom-" He stammered, "Promise not to laugh?"

Amata nodded solemnly, "Pinky swear it." She rose up the digit.

The boy rose up his pinky also, but then they both glanced down at the window that separated them, as if noticing it for the first time, and then dropped it. The boy sighed, straightened his shoulders, and plowed ahead. "Okay." He began, "okay, I don't really remember it, but my Da told me that I use to have a playmate when I was a baby." Amata felt her eyes widen and her stomach boil at the soft, warm, loving inflection that the boy threw into the word "_Da_". She recognized the feeling as jealousy. But that faded away at his next words, "He said her name was Amata."

That threw her for a loop.

"Me?" She asked, pointing a finger at herself. The boy nodded, and she frowned, "I don't remember that at all! What on the earth happened?" That's when the doctor's kid glanced to the side, his dirty blond hair falling over and tickling his neck. And Amata felt the absurd urge to reach through the window to brush the tresses aside so she could see his storm-cloud eyes.

As if sensing her thoughts, the boy brushed his bangs away as he shrugged, locking gazes with her again. "I don't know. But I think it had something to do with your dad." And Amata immediately knew it to be true. Of course it was her father. It was always her father! He always tried to push her away from boys! She didn't get it! He was fine when Susie showed up to her house two weeks ago, so the two of them could play. But when she asked to go to Matthew Palmer's birthday, he had thrown a fit.

But the boy went on, seemingly oblivious to Amata's inner ranting and stewing anger, "Anyway," and he paused here, and Amata felt her anger subside, realizing this was the hard part for him, the part that he was entrusting to her, he gulped slightly and wrung his hands a bit, "Anyway, ever since my Da told me about you, I started to call you the Almost Friend, because if whatever it was didn't happen, then, well, uh.."

_I might have had a friend. _She heard clearly in the awkwardness, _and I really want a friend._

The words had died off his lips, and now the boy was looking the other way, his eyes fixed on a point on the floor beneath him and was, once again, tugging at one of his velvety Vault suit sleeves. But Amata just found herself looking at him, a contemplative mood settling over her. She had read him. She had read his thoughts, his feelings, so clearly and easily it was almost as if it were written down on his face. Was she always this good at judging people? Or was it only him? And why? Why? She didn't understand.

But she did know she had to break the silence.

It only figured that the first question out of her mouth was the one she had wanted to ask for so long.

"So why were gone?"

He looked at her with a expression that clearly stated, "huh?", so she rolled her eyes and explained.

"Well, your, uh, Da," The word felt funny on her lips, "came into class and said you were sick and that you might be gone for a while, but that wasn't true, was it?" And there, just there, she saw the flash that went through his eyes, the uneasy shifting of his body as he collapsed into sitting cross-legged on the crate. She could see him fighting inside, wondering if he should tell her or not, wondering if she would laugh, wondering if she would snap out at him, and Amata swore, right then and there, to never laugh at him, never hurt him. If her squirming insides were any hint, Amata figured it was as much for her own sake as it was for his.

The doctor's kid looked up, peered into her eyes, and made his decision.

"That day, when I ran away from recess," He winced at the memory, "the first thing I did was run home. My dad was there," he gave her a small look at this, and she knew that he knew, and she wondered if she was being read also. But then he glanced down, and went on, "he had just came back from a night shift at the clinic, he was really tired out and there was this gross splatter of - something- on his coat. But he hung the lab coat on the coat-rack and brought me over to his favorite chair, hugged me close and wrapped the two of us in this big ole blanket." Amata's hands were shaking and there was _pain_. Pain everywhere, for she could picture the scene, picture it so vividly that it hurt, for she knew, for her, it was impossible. But the boy went on, having long decided not to look at her face, "I was, I was," He choked, "I was crying, and he was telling me everything was alright." His voice was so warm, so happy, so full of love, Amata's fists curled up, "and I told him about the recess and those stupid boys and _Butch_."

And that was when her world was shaken.

She was startled, jealous, angry, confuse, hurt, and so many other things, but the thick, heavy, unbearable love that the boy felt for his father, a love that was so vivid, so obviously shared, that it made a tide, a storm of tears, prickle at the corner of her eyes. Yet, that one word, caused all the emotions to still, for her entire mind to still, become stone cold. That word. That tone. His _eyes_. Amata never really like Butch, and after this year, when he became friends with Wally and the two of them began to goad Paul to join them in their stupidity, he just became worse. But still, but still -

_Butch_. She heard it again in her head. Had she ever clearly understood hatred before now?

The boy had stopped and was looking at her with concern, "Is there something wrong?"

_I'm scared of you_. "No, nothing. Go on."

He nodded slowly, still giving her a odd look, but then he glanced somberly at his hands, and sighed, "Alright. Well, Da asked me if he should go and talk to Miss Elnidor. I told him not to bother...you know what she's like. It was then that he asked if I would like to miss a day or two of school, he figured that after a day or two they would forget about it, and find something else to make fun of."

Now she understood, "So you told him yes."

But he simply shook his head, "No. I told him I wanted to go back to school."

Did he have a handbook somewhere that said, "101 Ways to Surprise Amata Almodovar"?

Again, he seemed to read her expression, for he explained, "I told him that I wanted to go back to school and make someone, anyone, play baseball with me. That way I could show them all that I was good. Way better then they thought I was. Make them respect me, accept me. But...I was afraid I would just make a fool of myself. I know I can play. I like baseball, I play catch with Da and Jonah all the time. But...but when I'm there, with the rest of them, with _Butch_, I just...I don't know. My body just won't work. So Da suggested that I practice some, that way, when I do go back, things will have settled some and I can show them all what I can do."

Amata finally knew what she had to do.

"So," She began slowly, slyly, with a glint in her eye – she couldn't give it away yet, after all! "That's why you were practicing down here. So that you could show the others that you're actually good at baseball. And so that whole star player and Grognak thing was-"

He finished off her sentence, as if it came naturally, "a way to focus. Yeah. I figured that if I pretended to be someone else, it'll make me do better. Kinda stupid, huh?"

Oh! This was just too good! "Yeah, it kinda was."

She had to fight off the giggles, really fight it off. He looked so shocked! But she saw a hint of hurt, just about to rise to the forefront, and she couldn't let that happen. "I mean, you only worked on your batting. But you got to work on your throwing and catching too, right?"

Now he understood, "Wait! Do you mean-"

Amata smiled, "Wanna play some catch?"

She had thought she had seen him happy before. But now the boy was glowing, as if a fire was burning throughout his body, throughout his soul, and was making every particle of his being radiate with pleasure. His grin was so wide, that it was nearly bursting off his face. To be honest, it was a bit goofy looking, but it was still nice.

Before she knew it, the smile flickered away and she wanted it back.

Hesitant, the doctor's kid asked, "But what about school? Didn't break end a while ago?"

Amata glanced up at the digital clock in the corner. He was right. Break had ended. She was late.

But then she glanced back at the boy, and even the faintest thought of turning around and leaving him alone was shattered in a instant. She made a show of shrugging nonchalantly, "Hey, if you can skip out on classes, I can too." Besides, it would make her father flip.

Amata was stunned with another dazzling grin, as the boy cheered and jumped up, the crate shifted beneath his feet, but he didn't seem to notice. "Alright! I'll be up there with ya in a lickitsplit!" And, just like that, he jumped down, landing on the tiled floor and then darted away, through a side door that she hadn't notice until now, and into a narrow hallway. For a moment she just looked after him and then, suddenly, a thought came to her, and she felt herself jumping to her feet and yelling after him.

"Hey! You didn't tell me your name!"

Her only response was heartfelt laughter, the kind that only bubbles up from the depths of the soul.

But underneath it was a loud thuunk as the last baseball sped out, hit a crate and rolled along the floor.


End file.
